Across London, Mr. Darcy had passed a long and distinctly lonely week, occupying himself with Georgiana and business. He did not call on anyone and received no visitors.
His current position was as unnerving as it was unexpected. Elizabeth had hurt both his pride and his heart when she had not accepted him with the joyful alacrity he was expecting. He had been angry at first, until reflection—and love—had convinced him of the reasonableness of her actions. He found she had only risen in his estimation, and he wanted her even more than he had before. He had not thought it possible.
Of the state of Elizabeth’s heart he tried not to think—although her words echoed through his mind with uncomfortable frequency. It was obvious to him that he had made mistakes in dealing with her; as careful as he had been, as rational as he had tried to be, he had misread her and made some major miscalculations. He had thought too much of his own feelings and not enough of hers. He had also explained himself badly at his proposal, causing her apprehension and probably—he admitted with a sigh—some mortification. Her family was mortifying, he did not blame himself for that, but he was truly sorry for having caused her pain. He would, he vowed, never speak to her of it again. His struggles would remain his alone.
That Elizabeth might ultimately reject him outright wasn’t a possibility within his experience. Women like her simply did not refuse men like him. He had far too much to offer. But the total effect of the circumstances, of the waiting, the questions, the contrast between his fervent love and her indeterminate regard, was to leave him feeling as he had scarcely ever felt in his life: vulnerable, anxious, and uncertain. He did not like it.
He had accepted that he was making a fool of himself for Elizabeth. He would be upheld as an example of folly by not only much of society but probably even his own family. The idea of it rankled deeply; he had spent so much of his life avoiding ridicule. But Elizabeth—he sighed deeply, a man in love. She was excellent, he knew it, and in time everyone would come to know it. If he must be a fool for love, let it be for lovely Elizabeth.
Chapter Three
In a show of boundless tact, neither Mrs. Gardiner nor Jane said anything to Elizabeth about Mr. Darcy for the entirety of Sunday, so she was left to come to her own conclusions as best she could. On Sunday evening she approached her aunt.
“I . . . I do not think I remembered to tell you that Mr. Darcy is to call here tomorrow morning.”
“I see,” replied the good lady after a moment. “To receive your answer, I presume?”
“Yes, if I am ready to give it.”
“And are you?”
Elizabeth took a deep breath and glanced away. “I think so.”
Mrs. Gardiner regarded her seriously but forbore to ask what answer she planned on giving. It was clear to her that whatever it was, Lizzy was not yet ready to talk about it. “I suppose you would like the opportunity to speak to him alone.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I do not think that should be very hard. Your uncle will be out for the day, and Jane and I can easily go out as well. You shall have all the privacy you wish to tell Mr. Darcy whatever it is that you have to say to him.”
So it was that the following morning Elizabeth waited alone in the parlor on Gracechurch Street. She felt a little nervous but resolved.
Mr. Darcy, when he arrived, was vaguely pleased with the appearance of the house. It was still a source of astonishment to him that he would voluntarily connect himself so closely with a merchant, and calling here could be considered something of an indignity, but he saw their situation was not as bad as he had feared. The street, although certainly unfashionable, was prosperous and well maintained, and the Gardiner’s house likewise. It was modest by his standards, but would be considered handsome by the middle class, and as he was let in the front door, he noted absently the general appearance of good taste.
On being shown into the parlor, Darcy was surprised to find only Elizabeth waiting for him. He bowed; she curtsied.
“Miss Bennet.”
“Mr. Darcy.”
“You are well?” He looked at her intently. “Was your journey comfortable?”
“Yes. And yourself?”
He nodded almost imperceptibly. “Are you—?” He glanced around the room.
“Jane and my aunt have taken my cousins to the park.”
“Did your aunt know I was coming?”
“Yes.” At his look of inquiry she explained, “I’m afraid I told her everything. Not just to get permission to see you alone but because I have great respect for her advice.”
“I see. And what did she tell you?”
“Nothing I did not already know.” The tension between them was palpable. Elizabeth gestured to the settee. “Would you like to sit down? Shall I call for some refreshment?”
“No, thank you.” He shifted on his feet. “I do not wish for anything right now, and I would prefer to stand.” She nodded. “Miss Bennet, you know why I am here! Please tell me immediately if you have been able to reach a decision.”
She took a deep breath. “Mr. Darcy, I have.”
She saw him clinch his hands as if bracing himself. “And what is your decision?”
He saw her twist her hands together as if trying to calm herself. “Mr. Darcy, are you certain you wish to marry me?”
“Of course!”
“And you will not regret it?”
He looked at her gravely. “I would venture to say, Miss Bennet, that the only one who could cause me to regret it would be yourself.”
She smiled a small smile. “Then, sir, I will endeavor to see that you never do regret it.”
He drew a deep breath and took a step closer. “Be plain with me, madam, I beg you.”
“Mr. Darcy, I have considered your generous offer very carefully, and I find that . . .” She paused to breathe. The suspense was to Mr. Darcy’s feelings dreadful. “I would be honored to accept.”
He came two more steps forward and took her chin in his hand, searching her face. “Are you certain?” It was his turn to ask.
“Yes, sir.”
“And have all your doubts been set to rest?”
“As much as I believe is possible.” At his frown she explained, “Marriage to any man is a—well, a leap of faith of sorts that means tremendous, permanent changes in a woman’s life. I do not know that it would be possible to be without any doubts at all, no matter the man.” One side of her mouth turned up. “You will soon discover what a cynical woman you have chosen, Mr. Darcy.”
His hand dropped to hers; without moving his gaze, he grasped her hand and, bringing it up, turned it to kiss her wrist. “I like your cynicism,” he said, his voice low and a little rough. “It pleases me, as everything about you pleases me.” His free hand moved to touch her cheek gently. “I also shall endeavor to see to it that you never regret it, Elizabeth,” he said, but with an exultant gleam in his eyes and a tone that indicated no doubt of his success.
A look of determination came over him; in a quick movement he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. His eyes searched hers for signs of shrinking, but Elizabeth would not shrink; she had made up her mind and was determined. It was strange to be held so intimately, but not entirely unpleasant. She looked back steadily; he bent his head and kissed her firmly on the mouth.
She understood him. He was claiming her, reminding them both of everything she had agreed to. She was his now, and he kissed her because he had the right. That also felt strange: the press of someone else’s lips against her own. But before she could analyze it, he had drawn back and let her go. There was a warm color in his cheeks; he smiled at her in a way she had never seen before, and his eyes still roamed over her. Then he caught up both her hands and was pressing his lips to them. His eyes closed; he seemed momentarily lost to anything else. It shook her, to see him thus, and touched her too. It would seem that she did, indeed, hold his heart in the palm of that very same hand he was kissing.
Just then there were soun
ds of activity in the entry. “Sir,” she said softly, “I believe my aunt and sister have returned.”
He let her go immediately and in another moment was the same Mr. Darcy as always, except for a certain warmth in his eyes and voice. “May I call on you tomorrow?” he asked.
Elizabeth hesitated. “I’m afraid we shall be out.” He looked displeased. “We have an engagement of some standing to visit a friend I would not wish to offend. Forgive me, but I feel I really must go.”
He nodded reluctantly. “Very well. But—”
Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by the entrance of the ladies, who were both trying very hard not to appear as interested as they were to see the two of them standing together like that.
Her color a little heightened, Elizabeth hastened forward to greet Mrs. Gardiner and make the necessary introduction. Darcy, although pleased to note that Elizabeth’s aunt looked like a gentlewoman, was in no mood for making conversation with strangers. At any other time he might have met Miss Jane Bennet with some self-conscious discomfort, but in this case he was too occupied by other feelings.
“Miss Bennet, it is good to see you again,” he said rather distractedly.
“And you as well, Mr. Darcy,” she said softly. “I hope you are well.”
“Yes, thank you,” he replied, looking at Elizabeth, “I am very well.”
Elizabeth had been speaking quietly to her aunt, who turned to Mr. Darcy and said, “Mr. Darcy, if I may be so bold, we would be very honored if you were to have dinner with us some evening soon. I know my husband would like to make your acquaintance.”
To Darcy, the task of becoming acquainted with the Gardiners ranked as a disagreeable necessity, but if he wished to call here over the coming week, he had no choice. “Thank you, madam, I shall certainly come.”
Mrs. Gardiner glanced from him to Elizabeth. “Would—tomorrow be too soon? An informal family party, you understand.”
“Tomorrow is quite acceptable,” he said, grateful at least that he would get to see Elizabeth a little sooner. He took his leave then, and Elizabeth accompanied him to the door.
“We have much to talk about still,” he told her.
“My aunt is a discreet woman. I am sure we will have opportunity.”
“I conceded you tomorrow morning, Elizabeth, but your others must be mine. Can you do that for me?” She nodded, smiling slightly. Glancing around to see that they were alone, Darcy tipped her chin up and rather boldly ran a finger over her lips. Elizabeth blushed. He caught her hand and kissed it. “Until tomorrow night,” he whispered.
Elizabeth watched him walk down the steps with a mixture of emotions and returned slowly to the parlor, where her aunt and sister looked at her expectantly for the announcement they were now sure she had.
“I accepted him,” she said wryly.
Jane moved to embrace her. “Oh, Lizzy!” was all she could say.
“My dear, are you sure?” asked Mrs. Gardiner, searching her face with concern.
“Quite moderately, yes.”
“And you will not regret it?”
Elizabeth sighed. “I cannot tell you,” she said frankly, “but I think it’s less likely I will regret accepting him than that I would regret refusing him. In any case, it is done now! I have promised him, and I will not take it back.”
“Lizzy, if you change your mind, you must not be afraid to say so!” exclaimed her aunt. “Neither your uncle nor I, nor your father either, would wish you to be caught in a marriage you disliked because you felt you could not take your word back. Rich Mr. Darcy may be, but he cannot compel you!”
“Dear aunt! I shall brave all if it comes to that, I promise, but I believe I find myself at this moment surprisingly satisfied. Just think of what bragging rights I have given my mother over Lady Lucas!” And Elizabeth would not be drawn back into a more serious discussion of what she had done.
By the time he arrived back at his town house, Darcy was regretting that he had not stayed longer. It had seemed impossible, in the moment, to speak to Elizabeth’s aunt and sister when all he wished was to be alone with her, but now he would not see her again until the following evening. He had gained her consent but still had the frustration of limited access to her.
Coming inside, he immediately sought out his sister, finding her inevitably in the music room. She was practicing her harp, frowning thoughtfully over the notes, rehearsing the same phrase over and over until she got it right. He leaned against the door frame, watching her and thinking about how womanly she had become. He hoped dearly that she would be happy at the news he brought.
Georgiana looked up. “Fitzwilliam!” she exclaimed happily. “How long have you stood there?”
“Long enough to hear how hard you are working.”
“How many mistakes I am making, you mean. Why is the harp so much harder than the pianoforte?”
“Because it is easier to push down a key than to pluck a string properly.” He came into the room. “Georgiana, I have something to tell you.”
Immediately, she turned from the harp to face him. “Yes?”
He hesitated. “It is something that will please you, I hope.”
“Does it please you?” she asked tentatively.
He smiled. “Yes, it pleases me, very much.”
“Then I am certain it shall please me, too!” She beamed with serene confidence.
He took a seat near her. “Georgiana,” he began, “do you remember that I have sometimes in my letters—the letters from Hertfordshire and Kent, that is—made mention of a lady by the name of Miss Elizabeth Bennet?” The mentions of her in the letters from Hertfordshire had been largely accidental; the ones in the letters from Kent, purposeful. He had been trying, without giving too much away, to prepare her for the possibility that he might soon take a wife.
Immediately, Georgiana’s eyes grew bright with interest and anticipation. “Of course I remember. They made me wish I could meet her sometime.”
“Well, you shall meet her, and soon,” he answered with a warm smile.
“Truly?” she clasped her hands.
“Truly. In fact, you and she are going to become very well acquainted. You see . . .” He took a deep breath, “if you wondered where I went earlier, I went to see her. Georgiana, I have asked for, and just this morning received, her hand in marriage.”
Georgiana, who could not imagine that any woman upon whom her brother bestowed his approval would be anything less than worthy of it, gasped with delight and would have thrown her arms around him, but the extreme respect in which she held him prevented it. Instead she smiled a brilliant, tear-filled smiled and said, “Oh, brother! At last I shall have a sister!”
He was extremely pleased and put his arm around her, hugging her tenderly. “Yes, you shall. You will like her very much, I promise.”
“Oh, I am certain that I will. If you like her, she must be everything that is good.”
“I do like her. In fact,” he confessed, “I love her.”
“I hoped you might,” she confided. “You have hardly ever written to me of any other women, and she sounded very agreeable.”
“She is. She has four sisters of her own, you know, so she is well practiced in being a sister.”
“Four sisters?” Her eyes widened. “Perhaps she will not want another one, then.”
“She will be delighted with you,” he said firmly. You are a vast improvement over her own younger sisters. “She is currently staying in town at her uncle’s house with her elder sister, who is also a very agreeable young woman I am happy for you to know.”
“When will I meet them?” She looked both eager and nervous at the prospect.
“They will unfortunately be away from home tomorrow morning. I am engaged to have dinner with them that evening, and if all goes well, I will take you to call on them the following morning. You and I,” he said, flicking her cheek gently, “have not, I think, had enough laughter in our lives since our father died. Elizabeth laughs a great
deal. She will lighten both our hearts.”
Miss Darcy’s eyes shone at this prospect, and Darcy could not help feeling inordinately pleased with himself.
Steeling himself for a second, less pleasant interview, Darcy made his way the following day to the narrow but fashionable house that belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Hurst. He gave the butler to understand that he wished to speak confidentially with Mr. Bingley and was shown to the library, where his friend soon joined him.
“Darcy!” he exclaimed. “So you are back in town! How was Kent?”
“Very pleasant.” They exchanged small talk for a few minutes before falling into silence, broken eventually by Darcy. “Bingley, I have something to tell you.” He stood up and moved around restlessly.
“Oh?”
“I have . . . done something which I fear will make you angry.” He picked up a book and ran his fingers over the spine.
Bingley’s brows rose, and he sat up straighter. “Oh?” he said again.
“Yes.” The first book was set down and another picked up. He traced its embellished cover slowly. “It is something, you see, that I once advised you strongly against doing yourself. I am aware of my hypocrisy and can only hope you can forgive me. I was sincere in the advice I gave you, and only the strongest possible inducements persuaded me to do otherwise myself.”
“Well, good heavens, get to the point! What did you do?”
Darcy abandoned the books and moved to the fireplace where he stirred a log with his booted toe. “Bingley, a little over a week ago I asked Miss Elizabeth Bennet to marry me.”
Unequal Affections: A Pride and Prejudice Retelling Page 5